Just another mission, probably
by A-Box-Of-Scraps
Summary: Clint shows up at a deserted warehouse, expecting to go in and out with another completed mission and another easy fight over and done with. Not likely. He meets a mysterious spy (identity to be revealed) who is proving much harder to kill then he originally hoped for... Inspired by the Clintasha fight scene in Avengers, rated K simply because it's mainly a fight scene.


**What do you get when you combine a sleepless night, Jet Lag, a 8 hour flight, a 3 hour line-up, a sister tap-dancing on your last nerve, an almost-mental-illness obsession with the Avengers, extreme boredom, and plane sickness? A new story, of course! Just a little one-shot I thought of while waiting in the security line up. I love traveling. :) It also came to me when I was watching Avengers on my tablet, about 3 minutes ago, and I got to the super awesome scene when Natasha and Clint are trying to kill each other, when Clint's under Loki's mind control. You know that one?**

**"Tash?" WHACK!**

**You all know that feeling. You check on your story and nobody reviewed, and you get all sad... and then one person reviews and it makes your whole day. :) I own nothing, including the picture. Anyways. Here we go. Enough of this ridiculously authors note, and on with the show! **

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Clinton Francis Barton was planning to cheat again.

He had came full circle. Well, more like crescent moon. He had cheated before - who in his business hadn't? - but never in this way. Anyhow, it was de-ja-vu. Of Dejavu. Or dejavou. Or something. He crouched, with his knife concealed in his hand, his hand tightening in a fist. Across the shadowy warehouse his enemy was poised, gun pointed at his heart, back to the wall, with the higher ground. By all rights, he should have conceded defeat a while ago when he was out of arrows, lying on his back, and unarmed. He should probably have done the reasonable thing and given up when the enemy Agent had shot a bullet past his left ear, missing by ... well, it wouldn't have missed if he hadn't ducked. And he definitely should have surrendered when he was dangling by fingertip from the roof of the warehouse.

Instead, he had a knife from the corner of the warehouse, and wasn't giving up in the slightest. He could tell from his opponent's stance that it was bugging the her. Why won't this guy just die already?! Kind of thing. Clint rolled out from the chair he was using as a cover, and cheated again. His enemy froze a second, wondering why he had broken cover. Breaking cover was like shooting your cannon into your face, in 'Spy/Assassin/SHIELD/Whatever' world. The enemy regained composure, pointing the muzzle of the gun at Clint. It was the last bullet. Clint knew, he had counted. Knowing that the Agent would shoot to kill, and not miss, he propelled himself behind a smuggled 'Van Gogh.' He probably should save the artwork, but...

_... Meh. Maybe later. He was never a big fan of Sunflowers anyhow._

Clint waited a moment, then shot back out from the art and back in, faking out the opposing spy. It worked. The Agent fired her last bullet where he should have been, if her hadn't broken back into the cover of the artwork. Clint grinned quietly from behind the masterpiece. And this is when I bust in with my knife, and claim victory over mankind... Clint jumped up from the artwork, tripped, stepped on it, (leaving a giant boot-print. Oops.) slashed the knife over it (ripping it in half) fell over, got back up, and smashed face-first into the enemy.

_Well, that works to._

Their lips locked, and Clint's fingers found their way up to the Agent's hair. Never breaking the kiss, he pulled the tuque of the spy's head and watched her hair cascade down her back. While she was distracted, Clint put his arms around her back, moving his knife into position. At the same instant, he felt the cold steel of a pistol pressing into the small of his back.

_Stupid! Stupid stupid stupid! She had another gun! That should have occurred to you, knucklehead!_

Well, he could work with that. Lightly pressing the blade of his knife into he neck, he spun out and grabbed the Agent's arm, twisting, and leaving her locked up and pressed flush to his body. Clint inwardly smirked. Got'cha, and he dug his elbow into her chest, making her drop the gun. He pressed her arms behind her back and held them there, getting back to his feet, and held her arms like make-shift handcuffs. I win, I think. The spy still wasn't saying anything, neither had spoken a word.

OW! The Agent stamped her boot down on his foot, at the same instant head-butted him in the forehead, and twirled away, picking up the gun that still had shots in it.

_Bugger._

She pointed her gun at his chest, and gestured for him to put the knife down. He carefully did, making slow movements. Then, while he was down, he rolled foreword and swept out her leg. He heard a hiss of frustration as the Agent fell down. She commando rolled out sideways, though, through a hold in the warehouse floor. Clint swan dived through the hole after her, and landed neatly on his feet. The target was nowhere in sight. He glanced up. She was hanging from a chain, his knife in one hand, and the pistol strapped to a holster on her leg.

_Interesting choice... Usually you would go for the long range weapon when further away_. Clint thought longingly of his bow on the roof. Then another thought struck him. _How did she get my knife?!_ The agent swung on her chain, and landed on him, her knees down on either side of his chest, and her head above his. The Agent's hair was stringy, and she looked furious that the fight was taking this long. They glare at each other, then Clint and the other spy again kiss, rolling wildly and stopping against the wall, locked together. Clint suddenly realizes that he is pinned against the wall and the spy, and *his* knife is poised at his throat, one slice away from death.

_Double bugger. I have got to stop getting distracted like this!_

Clint pulled down on the spy's hair, forcing her head up and her hand down. She whipped up her knee, and pressed in his chest, digging her knee into his ribcage. Clint's breath hitches, as he can't help but notice that A) the Agent has great legs, and B) She totally just blocked off his windpipe. Wheezing for air, Clint punches the spy in the face, throwing her backwards off him. She hooked her arm behind his back, and flipped him upside down against the chain she had swung down from. Moving quickly, as he thrashed against her actions, she trussed him up with the chain around his left leg.

_Dang it, dang it, dang it!_

As she goes to kick him in the leg (the chained one, which would be impossibly painful) he twists, tripping her with the chain. She springs up on the impact, and flips up her hair. Her eyes glint dangerously in the light of the warehouse, and her shadow looks very unfriendly. Clint smacks the chain against the wall, trying to loosen it, which did nothing but make his leg hurt. He glanced up at the leisurely approaching ninja, who, now that she thought that she had one, seemed to be taking her time. He keeps up the panicked loser act for a little longer, silently doing the count-down.

10 Paces away. 10 Seconds.  
9 Paces. 9 Seconds.  
8 Paces. 8 Seconds.  
7 Steps. 7 Seconds.  
6 Steps. 6 Seconds.

_Yeah... Close enough_. When she was 5 Steps from him, and definitely getting suspicious, Clint made his move. He leapt up in the air and gabbed the chain, scaling it like a rope. He reached the hole that they had fallen through and pulled himself over the ridge and up, yanking the chain up after him. Looking down at his frustrated target, Clint allowed himself a moment to gloat.

_Ha-ha! Genius Clint strikes again! Beat that!_

The Agent paced below the hole for a few seconds, like a frustrated cat that didn't catch the bird. Then she darted out of Clint's view, presumably to find another way up. H only had a few minutes at best, so Clint worked quickly. Firstly, he untied the chain from his leg and coiled it up. With the chain, he made one of those traps called... Called... Well, never mind. Those traps you step in, and they yank you up by the ankle. Deadfalls? No, not the name, but it was a good idea. He made his way to another hole in the floor, and placed a tarp over it. He scanned his shadowy setting. Those were the only to holes big enough that she could get through, but there was the possibility that she would make her own. There was nothing that he could do about that, but there was something that could gave him at least a smaller advantage. Clint piled up some crates, and jumped into the rafters. When he was up, he knocked the crates back down so the Agent wouldn't know that he was up there. Clint melted into the shadows, until one slightly important thought struck him.

_I don't have a weapon! It's just not my day, or something. Geez!_

Well, it was to late now. If he came down from his perch now, there may not be time to come back up before he was discovered.

_Darn it!_

He glance around the rafters, to see if there was anything up there that he could use. Nothing, but... There was a shadowy silhouette of the Agent on the rafters, a couple beams below him.

_What?! How?! Oh. The air vents, probably. I doesn't look like she's noticed me yet, probably thinking that I'm hiding below her._

He silently grabbed the beam he was holding, and dropped one down, with the grace of a dove. Nobody heard, so he dropped the second one down. The spy was one beam below him, and still oblivious to his presence. Clint paused a moment longer, they dropped down onto the Agent, his arms around her neck, his legs behind hers. She fell off the rafter, her arms bringing themselves up to defend against his attack. She flipped, and the instant before they smashed on the ground, so she ended up on the top, he ended up landing on the ground in pain. The spy purred, teasingly, and they kissed again.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was his iPhone alarm going off. The Agent on top of him got up, and Clint fumbled in his pocket for the alarm. He switched it off, frustratedly, and still watching his opponent.

"Ok, let's do the point count-up." Clint told her, after shutting off the alarm, "That's time." The shadowy figure nodded.

"Достаточно ярмарка. Я почти выиграл там, признайте это, вы были близки к представлению." she told him, with a smirk. Clint rolled his eyes, mentally doing the translation.

_Fair enough. I almost won it, admit it, you were close to submission._

It bugged Clint that the Agent insisted on speaking in this language, when he knew perfectly well that she understood English. The two wandered around the warehouse together, counting up the talley.

"Ok, I get points for the chain, the traps, a improvised knife, and I won the first battle, and I want points for the kisses." his companion rolled her eyes.

"В твоих мечтах. Вы теряете точку для Ван Гоу, я никогда не падал для любой ловушки, я взял свой нож, и эти поцелуи не в счет. Таким образом, вы получите только точку для цепи и пол-очка за нож. Итак, ваши общие точки лишь 1,5."

_In your dreams. You lose a point for the Van Gogh, I never fell for any traps, I took your knife, and those kisses don't count. So you only get a point for the chain and half a point for the knife. So, your overall points are a mere 1.5._

Clint frowned, but didn't object, when her total score ended up with a round 3. She ran her fingers down his shoulder, and smiled tauntingly at him.

"Я выиграю, я думаю, в третий раз подряд? Ваша потеря ваши прикосновения."

_I win, I think, for the second time in a row? Your loosing your touch._

Their fingers met, and they held hands, by this time on the street outside the abandoned warehouse. She turned and looked at him, in a pool of moonlight.

"Same time tomorrow?" she whispered, in perfect English, sending ripples through his body and leaving him on edge.

"Same time tomorrow. I should get back to the tower- how long until your mission out here is completed?" the spy rolls her eyes, dismissing the subject.

"Another 3 days. See you soon, my Hawk." and then she was gone, just like that. Clint slid into his car, and turned up the radio, smiling quietly to himself. It didn't bug him that he had lost their sparring match for the 3rd night in a row. The fact he was bruised and bleeding didn't bug him. He knew he would have won.

If Natasha would just stop cheating.

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**So, did I do good? Was it intense, or just slightly weird? They may be off, and I don't really know their fighting styles that well, but I think I was close. I got the russian from Google translate, and we all know how reliable that is. I sadly own nothing, including Clint, Natasha, Marvel, the radio of the world, a single abandoned warehouse, Van Gogh, (Whose name I may be spelling wrong) and the Russian language. Thank you for taking the time to read! Review!**


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